Breathe
by MissPond7
Summary: Molly and John are trying to ease themselves back into normal life when suddenly, Sherlock returns but what happens next will throw them all for a loop (i suck at summaries). Based on the song 'Daughter' by Youth
1. Chapter 1

chapter 1 -

Shadows settle on the place that you left, our minds are troubled by the emptiness.

A/N: Hey everyone, Pond here. This is my first BBC Sherlock story (YAY!) and will probably be around 11 or 12 chapters long. It's a Sherlolly story because OTP!

Disclaimer: If you even think that I own Sherlock or the characters then you are both hilarious and adorable.

It was December 3rd and Molly had been given a precious day off. Except it wasn't precious at all, in fact, it had been forced on her. The hospital had finally noticed that she had been doing overtime and countless other extra hours without a single day off for five months. Five months, two days, 11 hours and 22 minutes, that was exactly how long it had been since she'd last heard from Sherlock. Usually she would've heard from him every few months. This was his longest silence yet but working kept Molly occupied; she didn't have to sit around wondering whether he was dead or alive, whether she would ever see him again, whether-

"No!" She told herself firmly. She couldn't think like that. Sherlock didn't die.

After a few hours of aimlessly pacing her flat, alone with her thoughts, she had decided to go and visit the one person who could truly understand and relate to how she felt. John. Once Sherlock had left the country, about two weeks after his 'death', Molly and John had joined forces. It was little things at first, he would visit her at work to prove to Ella that he was still spending time with friends and then, as the well-wishers came on and 221b Baker Street began to fill with baked goods and sobbing people, they would share the occasional eye roll or synchronised sigh.

Molly would always withdraw for a few days after having heard from Sherlock but really, they supported each other; they shared the grief and they remembered. The good times, the bad times, the times when Sherlock was a prat (99% of the time) and the times he had made them laugh or smile or cry. John and Molly did something that no one else did. They talked about Sherlock as if he were still alive, ignoring the violin in the corner gathering dust and the empty room in the flat and instead focusing on things that said he was still there, the half-finished case notes still on the kitchen counter and the bullet holes in the wall that didn't quite resemble anything but had the potential to. It was things like this that gave Molly hope, and hope was exactly what she needed.

She took the underground to Baker Street and knocked on the door, which was almost immediately opened by Mrs Hudson.

"Oh, it's you dear. Come in, come in, he'll be so glad to see you. He's been a bit glum lately" she said as she led Molly up the stairs.

Molly repressed the urge to sigh; it had been less than a year since John Watson's best friend had jumped off a building before his eyes and yet he wasn't allowed to be glum. 11 months was ages ago, they probably all thought. Around June the well-wishers cleared out and everyone went to work forgetting. Around that time Molly and Mycroft had been putting Sherlock on a plane to France and John had been where he always was these days, in the dark.

"Molly!" John exclaimed tiredly, picking up his cane. His limp, no matter how psychosomatic it was, had been dreadful since the fall, or more accurately, the jump.

He embraced her gently before stepping back and leaning on the doorframe, as Mrs Hudson ambled off to make tea. The tears were out before Molly could stop them and John's arms were around her again, he was gentle and comforting, kind of like how she'd always imagined an older brother might be. Several minutes had passed before Molly removed her face from John's latest hideous jumper and attempted to control her breathing; her face red and blotchy and her watery eyes clear as day and as swollen as the greedy night sky that gobbled up the stars.

John took her hand and gently led her to the living room where they both sat down.

"They made me take the day off," she explained apologetically, her voice shaking and watery.

"I'm glad," John replied. "You've barely even let yourself breathe lately."

Suddenly John froze and looked around the room. Sherlock was everywhere but John's subconscious didn't seem to believe that being everywhere could ever be enough for Sherlock. John jumped about a foot in the air when Molly laid a hand on his arm.

"It's just the wind," she said aloud before whispering to herself, "the wind and the sound of you."

She blinked and regained her composure before attempting to make small talk. "How's the new job?" she asked.

"Brilliant," came the reply and for the first time in a long time John's eyes lit up and his face contained some signs of life. "I met a lovely girl and I'm taking her out for dinner tomorrow night. Her name is Mary. Mary Morstan."

A contented look graced John's face as he said her name. He was smitten. Molly knew John. He fell hard and fast for a girl, there wasn't really another way for him.

"That's great John," Molly said brightly.

"How about you Molls, anything interesting?"

Molly laughed lightly.

"Does my cat count?"

"You miss him."

John was by no means referring to Molly's cat and it wasn't a question that he asked, it was a statement. John was making observations, deducing if you will and Molly couldn't help but think of her favourite deducer and the pained, vulnerable look he'd worn when he'd said, "I'm not okay."

John hadn't moved but as she thought of Sherlock the room began to feel empty and colourless, like a great black void of despair ready to swallow her up and drown her in gallons of her own misery. John's hand reached out to rest on Molly's arm, her life raft and her tether to reality.

She stood abruptly. "Look, it's been lovely catching up with you John and I'm sorry I can't stay longer but...yeah. Have fun on your date."

"I will Molls," he replied. "Take care of yourself."

Molly nodded, already halfway through door.

"Bye John." she called, as she slipped into the corridor outside. She rushed down the stairs and to her car, trying to control her breathing.

She could feel a panic attack coming on.

Hi everyone, thanks so much for taking the time to read my story, Breathe. I would like to send out a huge thanks to my amazing beta, Hoodoo and my brilliant Brit-Picker, DetectiveSilence. Thank-you both so much, this couldn't have happened without you and you're both just amazing so thanks again and virtual cookies to everyone reading this. Also, please take the time to review as it means quite a lot to me, thanks, see you all in chapter 2. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-

Destroy the middle it's a waste of time. From the perfect start to the finish line.

A/N: Hello everyone, please don't hate me for taking so long to update. I've been quite sick lately and yeah.

Disclaimer: Ha, ha ha, no. I wish, I own nothing.

Chapter 2

Molly managed to get back to her flat safely. She unlocked the door, her shaking hands fumbling with the keys, walked inside and sunk down on the floor in her sitting room, finally giving in to the attack and allowing it to take hold of her.

"Molly."

The voice came from behind her and was unmistakable but before she could let out a scream she felt his hand cover her mouth and his strong arms pull her shaking form back, trapping her against him.

"Breathe, Molly," he whispered calmly.

He moved his hand away from her mouth, trusting her not to scream but measuring her reactions anyway. His arm was still tight around her and she was still shaking as she gasped for air. A few minutes passed before she spoke.

"Sherlock," she whispered breathlessly.

He released his arm from around her after feeling her breathing steady and got up off of the floor, gripping her arms and bringing her up with him.

"You're—you're back." she said numbly.

"A keen observation," he replied sarcastically but his eyes crinkled at the corners and a smile played at his lips.

Molly laughed nervously, suddenly realising how close she was to Sherlock and how he still gripped her arms even though she was no longer in any danger of falling.

Mary and John came for dinner that night and it wasn't until they were in the sitting room, under the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs that the moment Sherlock had been dreading came. Mary, Molly, Sherlock and John were all chatting amicably when Sherlock stopped midsentence and began to gasp as inconspicuously as he possibly could for air. To the average human it would appear as if he were having a very minor coughing fit but Sherlock was in the room with a doctor, an assassin and a pathologist. They all saw something that night, something that they ignored and pushed away because it couldn't possibly be true.

John looked over Sherlock with his medical face on and was the first to break the silence, his medical face merging with his I'm-worried-about-you face.

"Sherlock, what the hell have you been doing?" he asked softly although he couldn't stop the anger that was creeping into his tone. He wasn't angry at Sherlock, but at Mycroft and the world for putting Sherlock through whatever he had gone through to obtain the copious amount of both serious and minor injuries that Sherlock had acquired.

"Working," Sherlock replied simply.

Molly turned a ghostly white as she watched John tend to Sherlock's wounds later that night. She couldn't stop herself from imagining the hell that he must've been through.

"Now dear," Mary said, interrupting her thoughts, "stop thinking about him, he's with John, he'll be okay. Now, think about them. What will we do to them Molls, how will we punish them for hurting him? Imagine it. That's better now, isn't it?"

Mary's advice may not have always been ethical but it did always work and Molly began to feel better, violent images and words surrounding her and filling her with a glowing, internal sense of power and content.

Mary and John didn't leave until late that night and Molly and Sherlock had sort of wordlessly agreed that he would stay with her - in that he had given her the smile reserved especially for her and she had replied with a meek, little one of her own. Much to Sherlock's annoyance, John had walked Molly through how to dress his wounds and made him promise to let her help before he and Mary had left.

This was how Molly found herself standing in her blindingly white bathroom applying a sticky liquid to the wounds that were scattered like constellations across Sherlock's back.

"Five months", she said quietly, whispering to her overly clean tiles.

"I'm sorry," he replied.

"Why?"

"I was, um, you would've died. You would've all died. You, Mycroft, everyone." He stumbled over the words, almost anticipating the reply that came and somehow trying to stop it.

"We did die. We all died, just like John died just like Mycroft died." Molly was crying again and at the mention of his brother Sherlock's attention was grabbed.

"You don't think I know that?" I died too. If only he could tell them, if only they understood just how much they all meant to him and how completely necessary and even essential all of their pain was. If only they knew.

Molly finished dressing Sherlock's wounds at last and the thick, awkward atmosphere that had surrounded them dissipated. Molly had set up her spare room and made sure Sherlock was settled earlier, before Mary and John arrived and before Sherlock sustained his latest injury, a black eye courtesy of John. She couldn't deny that Sherlock had earned it.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," Molly said before disappearing into her room.

"Goodnight, Molly Hooper," came the reply, aimed at her partially closed door.

Molly was awoken in the early hours of the morning by a heart wrenching scream that continued like an awful song on repeat. She got out of bed and donned her dressing gown before heading to Sherlock's room, fairly sure that she knew what was happening. She hovered at Sherlock's door, unsure of whether she should knock or not, and after spending a few minutes debating with herself she came to a decision and pushed open Sherlock's door just a crack and slipped inside the room. Her suspicions were immediately confirmed, Sherlock was fast asleep, although he thrashed and writhed all over the bed, twisting the sheets into a hopeless tangle as he screamed. Sherlock had fallen prey to an incurable malady that seemed to be seen more often in children than in adults, the common nightmare. All of his thrashing and writhing had torn Sherlock's wounds open afresh and it was this that made Molly gently shake her favourite consulting detective awake.

Sherlock awoke, coated in sweat to see Molly's kind, motherly face filled with concern. It took him only thirty seconds to figure out what was going on and another five minutes to allow Molly to redress his wounds. The hard part was getting Molly to go back to bed, that took almost half an hour. Sherlock did not lapse back into sleep early that morning as Molly did, instead he checked to make sure that Molly was asleep and then he gave in to the symptoms of his oncoming illness.

Molly Hooper slept soundly in the next room, her cat curled up at her feet. They were both oblivious to the danger that was to come, as was Sherlock.

A/N Hello again humans, I hope that you're enjoying the story so far. You're going to start getting some answers next chapter and I will try to write it faster then I wrote this. Once again, huge thanks to my amazing team, my brilliant beta Hoodoo and my spiffing BritPicker DetectiveSilence. Check them out, I don't know what I'd do without them.


	3. Chapter 3

And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones. 'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.

A/N: Hi everyone, just a reminder that this is a song fic. It's based on the song 'Daughter' by Youth, I suggest that you give it a listen when you get the chance as it is a beautiful song and although it is not integral to your understanding of this story's plot it will certainly help.

Disclaimer: No, *cries*, I own nothing.

Chapter 3-

Sherlock dragged himself away from his case files and out of bed and found, to his surprise, that Molly's flat was empty. He rushed into the kitchen to find a note next to the kettle.

Morning, Sherlock (or perhaps afternoon)

Got called in to work, Mary and John are coming over at 12, help yourself to any food in the house (please eat, you're paper thin). Will be home at 3pm. Call me if you need anything,

Love Molly

Sherlock glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. 12:05. Sure enough, there was a knock at the door. The Watsons. Sherlock walked over to the door and opened it, giving into two violent coughing fits on his way. He opened the door and greeted his friends, ushering them in and then closing the door behind them. Sherlock was making his way to an armchair when another bout of coughing attacked him, leaving him leaning heavily against the wall, struggling to catch his breath.

"Sherlock." John began, but Sherlock cut him off.

"I'm fine John, it's just a cough. I've had it for months. It's probably just a lingering virus."

Sherlock's speech was hoarse and fragmented and he had not yet moved away from the wall, not trusting himself to hold his own weight.

John flew into doctor mode.

"Any other symptoms?"

Sherlock pressed his lips into a thin line, repressing another bout of coughing and a heavy silence settled over the room.

"Sherlock?"

The silence continued as Sherlock glanced around, avoiding John's gaze. John's mind was made up when Sherlock began to cough violently again.

John was going to demand an answer. Sherlock saw the determination in the set of his friend's jaw. But just as the doctor opened his mouth, he was interrupted by the chime of an incoming text. There was a moment of torn indecision on John's face- Sherlock saw that too- before the electronic alert tugged too fiercely and John turned away as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The silence continued as Sherlock glanced around, continuing to avoid John's gaze when he turned back. In spite of his attempts to control it, Sherlock broke into another violent coughing fit. That seemed to cement something in the doctor's mind.

"Mary, I have to make a house call for work, I just got the text—can you take Sherlock to A and E please?" Mary nodded as Sherlock shook his head in protest.

"I'm fine," he insisted but John gave him a steely glare, the kind that you couldn't look away from even if your life depended on it.

The doctor told him firmly, "Hospital. Now."

Mary texted Molly to let her know what was going on and locked up the house with the spare key, pulling a sulking Sherlock along with her by the wrist. John walked ahead of the pair and hailed them a taxi, kissing Mary goodbye before heading off to the tube station at the end of the street.

Sherlock continued to sulk and cough in the taxi, ignoring his shaking hands. He dragged his feet as Mary pulled him into the waiting room in the hospital and collapsed into a chair once they were inside, leaving Mary to talk to various doctors and nurses.

The pair didn't return to Molly's flat until the early hours of the next morning, both looking drained and exhausted along with something else that shocked John and Molly into silence as Mary and Sherlock walked in the door.

Mary made a beeline for John, pulling him into a bone crushing hug as a weak and shaking Sherlock sat down next to Molly wearing a look of defeat on his face. The room was silent for a long time. Sherlock was the first to speak.

"I can't do it," he said simply, speaking to Mary. She nodded, pressed her cheek into John's shoulder and caught Molly's eye.

"Sherlock has cancer," she said. The room was frozen, and even the blinds were still.

A/N: I know that this was a pretty short chapter but I wanted to let the weight of it sink in before I went into too much detail. Of course I am eternally grateful, as always, to the brilliant Hoodoo (most efficient beta ever) and the amazing DetectiveSilence (britpickers for the win). This story is being written, edited and brit-picked across 3 continents and these two are under no obligation to lend me their skills and yet they do, I am forever in your debt, both of you.

My dear readers, don't think that I've forgotten you. You're all absolutely fabulous and without you this story couldn't possibly be what it is. Thank you all and don't forget to read and review and check out 'Daughter' when you get a chance.

Special shout out to Hoodoo, for being amazing. You know what I mean.


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